Ashes Remain
by Anath Tsurugi
Summary: Because without Missandei of Naath, there is no Grey Worm


(A/N) So this is my first ever GoT fic. I don't think I'm likely to make a habit of it; I just had to do something with all these goddamn feelings I've been hauling around these last few weeks.

**Ashes Remain**

Grey Worm makes a decision as he watches Missandei's collar burn up – all that remains of her...everything she was _not_. That collar has no _business_ being all that is left. Either he will have Missandei or he will have nothing. And because he cannot have Missandei...

...he will have nothing.

"Grey Worm," his queen calls to him as he turns from her. He doesn't know what she might say, but he will have one thing clear right now.

"No," he bites out, the word harsh on his tongue. It may be the first time he's ever said it to Daenerys Stormborn, Breaker of Chains.

"No?" she repeats in confusion. There may be a note of anger, but he won't know unless he turns back to look her in the eye.

"There _is_ no Grey Worm. My queen should not...waste her words...on this name," he says over his shoulder, still not fully looking back at her.

"You told me once...that the name was lucky," she whispers, her voice breaking on the last word.

"And it was...once. Now it is the name this one had...when he watched Missandei fall from the walls of King's Landing...and he will bear it no longer. It is fear. It is pain. It is...agony," he says, briefly struggling with Ser Jorah's word. But it is the only one he can think of to describe the way his soul shattered when he heard the two separate pieces of Missandei's body strike the earth. Pain will _never_ be enough to describe that feeling – the feeling of splintering into a million pieces. For that single moment, he had come completely undone, and he _cannot_ be that person anymore. "This one...has no name."

"This one?" Now there really is pain in her voice, but he can't let himself acknowledge that. If he does, he will break again. Slowly, he turns back to her.

"If there is no Missandei of Naath, there is no Grey Worm. He died...in the dust below the walls. This one is Unsullied. _Only_ Unsullied."

He sees it in her eyes, the moment she realizes she's lost them both. He will always fight for her, until she sits on her Iron Throne or they all lie dead at Cersei Lannister's feet, but that which made him _him_ is gone. The existence that made up his with her own has been extinguished. His body will fight for Daenerys Targaryen, but _he_ is no more alive than Missandei.

Living, truly living, is more than he can bear. The only promise he has left to give is that he will make that Lannister red redder with blood.

He sees the flicker of heartbreak in her eyes, but before he turns away, he also sees a promise in them – the queen's promise that they will be avenged. Their love will be avenged. Missandei's last wish _will_ be honored.

Dracarys.

XxX

"Grey Worm!"

The Unsullied commander stiffens slightly upon hearing Tyrion call the name. He is aware, of course, as a matter of habit and necessity, that they will continue to use the name. His brothers will understand his decision, but it will be difficult for the Westerosi to understand it. When he turns toward the call, it's to see the queen's Hand and Jon Snow heading toward him from the upper landing.

"Lord Tyrion. Lord Snow," he acknowledges as they approach, briefly standing at attention.

"Has she taken any food yet?" Tyrion asks him, the worry plain in his eyes even in the dim light.

"Not to my knowing, no."

"Ah," Tyrion starts, gaze dropping briefly before he looks up at him again. "We were hoping we might prevail upon you to convince her to see reason."

"Reason?" he repeats, glancing between the two of them with narrowed eyes.

"Yes. Of those of us who- remain...you have known her the longest. You may be able to convince her where we have failed," the diminutive Hand explains in awkward bursts, belatedly realizing how his words might sting the Unsullied warrior. He doesn't react, though, much as he wishes he could. He only continues to glance between them.

"And what is it you think I ought to convince her of?"

"To take _care_ of herself," Jon steps in, the worry in _his_ eyes of a different candor than Tyrion's. "To see that lashing out might not be the best way to honor Missandei's memory. She won't _listen_ to any of us."

He has to resist the urge to lash out himself. That this man _dares_ to speak Missandei's name in the same breath as mercy...it tears at something raw and bleeding inside of him. But rather than let that hurt through, he settles for glaring at the two men.

"Tell me, Lord Snow, what do you know of slavery?"

The Northman sighs, looking away only briefly before meeting his gaze again. "Not as much as I should, I admit."

"We have lived under people like Cersei Lannister all our lives. Missandei once said that the only language they know is violence. You will find, Lord Snow, that her kind know nothing of your mercy or your truth. You ask me to beg our queen's mercy for a murderer. I cannot do this. I will do as my queen commands, but if the decision were mine, know that I would burn down _every last stone_ of the wall Missandei last stood upon!" he snarls at them. He sees the shock and the horror in their eyes and he can't bring himself to feel anything other than a savage glee. Any other emotion will destroy what little is left of him.

"Grey Wor-"

"Do you know, Jon Snow?" he interrupts the lord before he can finish the name. "Do you know what it is to watch the woman you love fall...and to be unable to save her? To save- _so many_ lives...but not that one- _precious_ life?" he asks, feeling pain lance through his heart at the use of the word he'd given to her what now felt like a lifetime ago.

"Yes," the Northman answers, his voice thick with old pain, and the truth of it is in his eyes, undimmed and undulled by the years. In those eyes, the Unsullied commander thinks he sees a shadow of what he will become.

"Then you know why I cannot allow Cersei Lannister to continue to draw breath," he finishes with a curt nod before continuing his trek down the stairs.

"It's not gonna bring her back, Grey Worm!" Jon Snow calls after him, the words stabbing him just as readily from behind as they might have from the front. "It doesn't matter- how many people you kill, who you get your vengeance from- _none of it_ matters. Because when all this is over, Missandei will still be dead. I _understand_ how you feel. If anyone here does, _I_ do, but why do more people have to die?"

He feels the anguish of those words break over him like a wave, threatening to pull him under, to _drown_ him. But instead of giving in, he cleaves to his anger like a raft, letting it bear him through the storm. He poses only one question before leaving them behind.

"What right do others have to be alive...when _she_ is not?"

XxX

_It doesn't matter._

The deadly refrain streams endlessly through his head as he cuts down Lannister soldiers like wheat.

_It doesn't matter._

A spear through one's chest. A knife through another's eye.

_It doesn't matter._

Blood flows over his hands, splashes onto his face...thick and hot. It burns his skin, salts his lips.

_It doesn't matter._

He bows to the will of his queen with the only kind of joy he's still capable of feeling – the pride of defeating an enemy, and the brutal pleasure of ending even one more of the soldiers that had stood between him and Missandei that day. He _has_ to feel the ugly violence of it. He _needs_ to. Otherwise...

_It doesn't matter._

Kill them all! Destroy every last piece of subhuman filth that _chose_ to fight for House Lannister. A blade across this one's throat. Smash that one's head against a crumbling wall. Kill the ones who killed her!

_It doesn't matter._

He catches glimpses of Jon Snow's horrified face through the slaughter every now and then, sometimes frozen, sometimes trying to stop the fighting, his words always gnawing just a little further into the Unsullied commander's brain.

_It doesn't matter._

Screaming, he whirls his spear in a deadly circle, taking out every red-armored soldier in his sights. He doesn't realize he's crying until his vision begins to blur, sending the world into an even more indistinct red haze. The tears pour down his face despite the rage overflowing his heart because-

-it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how many men he slays, how much blood he spills. It doesn't matter if the walls of King's Landing are burnt to ash today or they endure for a thousand years.

_A dead city...will not bring you back to me. I could sack a thousand cities in our queen's name, lay my victories at the feet of every god imaginable...and still not have __**you!**_

It doesn't matter who lives and who dies today. It doesn't matter if Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy are put to the spear or not. It doesn't matter if he is a liberator or a conquerer. It doesn't even matter if Daenerys sits on the Iron Throne or not. Because when it's all over...

_It doesn't matter what I do. You still won't be here anymore._

And it's with that thought that something inside of him finally _breaks_.

With the enemies all around him slaughtered, the lost warrior crashes to his knees, screaming – sobbing.

It's as he told his queen.

Without Missandei, there is no Grey Worm.

There is nothing left. Only Unsullied.

Nothing remains.

XxX

(A/N) I'm still not over it. Who's to say if I'll ever be. Of course our boy picks himself up again. He always does. Even if I'm not ready to move on, I'm at least glad he's trying to heal. Whatever else the finale may have done, it has that going for it.


End file.
